


Father's Day

by SkylaRose



Series: Lead it Home [4]
Category: Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breakfast, Daddy's little girl, Domestic Logan, F/M, Father’s Day, Fluffy, Happy fathers day Logan Echolls, Logan deserved better, Mars Women, Never ending washing pile, fathers and daughters, kids are messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkylaRose/pseuds/SkylaRose
Summary: Logan intervenes in a kitchen raid. He never stood a chance.
Relationships: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars
Series: Lead it Home [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683988
Comments: 15
Kudos: 41





	Father's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [casket4mytears](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casket4mytears/gifts).



> This is a fluffy little idea that has been bouncing through my head for a while. This as is normally the case with me un-beta’d. All errors are mine. I have read it a hundred times so hopefully it’s ok. 
> 
> For Casket my first friend in this fandom. I know it’s shitty and the road ahead is long. There are no magic wands. But there are people who care. You wrote a beautiful tweet an out your dad sometime ago. So this is for you because everyone should have a dad that loves them as much as yours and Athena’s. Xxxx

The sun was just brushing its fingers against the darkness of the horizon. Something knocked in the back of his mind. Sleep was calling him but there was a nagging feeling. He heard it. A thud downstairs. Hinges swinging. Chair scraping. Another thud. The sound of something spilling across the tiled floor. 

Consciousness finds him anew. Looking to his left, blond hair spills over the pillow adjacent. Nothing would wake his sleeping wife. Deep slow breathing. Constant. Unchanging. 

The sound of the spill followed quickly by a tiny voice, “shit!” His brow goes skywards, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Athena! He could picture her in the kitchen. Her chestnut hair tangled from sleep. Her purple My Little Pony pyjamas skew-whiff and rumpled. He could also picture her bringing her tiny hands up to her mouth, her eyes bouncing left and right as she looks for a mother. Naturally, his daughter had been swearing in context since she was eighteen months old. His fault he had been told. Butter wouldn’t melt in his pious wife’s mouth. She had a mouth like a trucker. But we’re not allowed to talk about that. 

Logan pads downstairs quietly, not wanting to disturb the kitchen bandit. As he reaches the door another scraping sound invades the silence, followed by the slapping sound of toddler feet on the floor. A blur of auburn curls bustles into his sightline. A broom, bristles facing upwards trailing across the floor behind her. He looks at the floor beyond. A sea of Coco Pops coats the tiles and tiny pink chair in front of the pantry. The bright yellow box discarded. As tiny feet crushed cereal into the floor. The child grunts with exertion. Frowning in concentration, as she tries to maneuver the broom back-and-forth with very little headway for her efforts. The scowl deepens. Frustration builds. The broom drops to the floor. She bends down. Small hands scrapping at the mess as though building a sandcastle. She looks furtively around the dark space. She scoops some up and makes it halfway to her mouth when she hears her Daddy. 

“Athena McKenzie!” Logan stage whispers. Her hand stutters mid-air. Twisting from her crouched position to look for her father. “What do you think you are doing?” At that moment Athena loses her footing, tumbling backwards into her cereal castle. The crunching cereal under her back sounds like a mini fireworks display in the stillness of the kitchen. Another sigh and an audible expletive. Closely followed by a hiccup that always comes before tears. Logan watches, as his daughter brings her hands up to her face. Her tiny body shaking with every tear she sheds. 

“Hey now. Come on kiddo,” scooping her up off the floor. Chocolate rice puffs skipping across the kitchen once more. “Daddy’s here. We can fix it.” Logan deposits the still crying Athena onto the kitchen bench and reaches to turn the rangehood light on behind him. He tallies the damage as he grabs a clean tea towel to wipe her tear-streaked face. 

Athena sits on the bench. Swinging her legs, hiding behind her hair. Wringing her hands in her lap.

“Do you want to tell Daddy about it?”

She shakes her head vehemently. Blue eyes wide behind her chestnut veil. “What are you doing in the kitchen?” He enquires, picking cereal from hair. She winces. Her expression gives away that she knows she is busted. Her shoulders shake again as new tears form. Logan scoops her up once more. Hugging her tight against him. The tacky breakfast confection now sticking to his arms. He makes soothing sounds into her hair.

“It's ok, sweetheart. It's ok.” Logan sets her back on the countertop. “How about I clean this up and we head back up to bed?” Reaching for the broom he looks at her out the corner of his eye. Her hands again wringing in her lap.   
  


She watches his every move from her perch in the kitchen. Not a movement in missed by those clear blue eyes. Logan picks up the discarded cereal box. He puts it with the recycling as he grabs for the dustpan and brush. Cereal crunching as he moves about. Every crunch fills the little girls ears. She jumps each time it happens. Her Mama will hear it, she is certain. Now it just won’t be her getting into trouble. Daddy will too. Her bottom lip pouts. It’s starting to tremble. Hot tears threaten to fall down her cheeks. She sniffs noisily. Drawing the attention of her Daddy.

”Come on sweetheart. No more tears. Daddy doesn’t like it when you cry. I have almost finished. See?” Logan holds up the dustpan. Coco Pops littered with dust-bunnies and stray dog hair. He dumps the evidence in the peddle bin, turning back to the perpetrator of the crime.   
  


“Now, do you want to tell me what this was about?” Brushing the veil of hair from her face. Revealing wide blue eyes, in stark contrast to the ruddiness of her complexion from her tears. She tilts her head. A frown colouring her features. He can almost hear the cogs inside her head. Turning over and over as she makes her decision.   
  


_Argh, Mars women!_ He thinks. The only way to get them to acquiesce their secrets is to allow them to think it was all their own idea. He looks over his tiny daughter. She looks like a tornado of purple and chestnut. Chocolate coated cereal clinging to her hair and pajamas. She needs time to think. Just like her mother. To come around and spill her tale on her terms.   
  


“Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?” His eyes move to the washing basket on the dining table. A never ending pile of folding. It’s always surprised him that one so tiny could go through so many clothes in a day. The never ending laundry conveyor-belt. He sifts through the basket. He finds a bright orange pair of Buzz Lightyear pajamas. A staple in Athena’s long list of favourites.

Setting himself to the task. He busies himself plucking cereal from her mass of hair. Standing her up on the bench he tries to remove her cereal encrusted pajamas carefully. It’s no good. Coco Pops rain down onto the counter and the newly swept floor. He steps back to look at her again. Now freshly dressed. Crunch! His feet now coated in shattered, sticky rice puffs. He sucks in a flustered breath. Eyes rolling heavenwards. He runs the soles of his feet up and down his shins. Dislodging the worst of it. 

  
A giggle rings clear and bright. He looks at his daughter. With her standing on the counter, they’re eye level. She reaches out to him. Her tiny hands pressing against his face. “It s’ok Daddy. I help clean.” Without fear she falls off the bench. Landing into his chest. She has complete faith that her Daddy will catch her.   
  


Hooking her around his hip, he spreads his hand against the bench top. Sweeping the mess into the floor. Reaching for the broom once again. Logan sweeps the floor with one hand. Athena wriggles to get down. “I help!” She gets the dustpan and holds it while he sweeps the pile into it.   
  


“Ok, little one. Let’s get a few more hours sleep.” His eyes looking to the wall clock. It’s nearing 6:30. Picking her back again. Again he feels Athena’s palms on his face. Still sticky from her early morning escapade. Her hands turn his head to face her. Her head is shaking vehemently. “No Daddy!”   
  


She has that face. It’s confession time. Swinging her around to his front, so he can look at her with out craning his neck, he raises an eyebrow in question. He watches as a myriad of expressions flow across her face. Here it comes.

  
”It a sup-pies.” Her nose wrinkling, when she doesn’t hear the right sounds falling from her mouth.

  
”A surprise?” He asks lightly. Rolling over the r’s. As her face lights up. Nodding up and down like a bobble-head.

”Beckfast, silly billy.” She all but rolled her eyes at him. Pressing her index fingers together she pokes him on the nose. “For you.”   
  


He stifles a chuckle. She is a walking talking mini Veronica. Always expecting her train of thought to be obvious to others and indignant when it’s not. “Of course! I should have known. Silly Daddy.” She smirks at him. _Now that look? That look is all Echolls_. Delighting in the fact that he has seen the error of his ways.

“Now why would I be needing breakfast in the middle of the night?”

She tilts her head again. Looking at him as if he were an idiot. _And Veronica is back_. He should just know all the answers. Be omniscient when it comes to the Mars women. He has been playing catch up his whole life. Surely they should both know this by now. A grin tugs at his lips.

She reaches for his face again. Turning him towards the window. “Not night,” exasperation permeating her words. The sky tinged in pink and pale grey. No shades of grey here. It’s black or it’s white. Or in this instance night or day. There is never an in-between.

Logan drawers a steadying breath. He is being out witted by a two year old in Buzz Lightyear pajamas. “Ok missy-moo, why do I need a surprise breakfast?” Rolling the r’s once again.   
  


She looks at him with eyebrows raised. Head shaking. He can hear her mind. If she had the vocabulary she would be asking if he was dense. She lets out a little humph. This time she really does roll her eyes at him ending with the tilt. “Fawer’s Day, Daddy.” Taking her hands away from his face, she flings her arms up and out. “Sup-pies!”

  
Logan laughs then. Hugging her tightly Blowing a raspberry on her neck. Until she giggles so much they run the risk of Attila coming down the stairs. They both start shushing each other. Not wanting the wrath of The Hun to fall down upon them.   
  
  


“Well then, I guess breakfast is the order of the day,” settling Athena onto a barstool. Reaching down a new box of Coco Pops from the pantry, Logan sets about organizing breakfast for them.   
  


He takes the stool beside her and hands her a spoon. He holds his up in the air. “Shall we say a toast, missy-moo?”

”Happy Fawer’s Day, Daddy,” Athena sing-songs. Clicking the back of her spoon against his, before diving it into the crackling bowl of cereal.

Logan smiles. Kissing the top of her head. He eats his Father’s Day breakfast. _This is the life._


End file.
